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Deschutes Jubelale 2011: OMG, Revisited

Last week, I got a box in the mail. We had just returned from a camping trip and there it sat, an enigmatic white box about the size kids’ shoes come in. I took it into the house, unloaded the camping gear, said hello to the cats, (they stayed home; they hate camping) and finally thought to open the box.

I nearly had to have CPR.

Deschutes Jubelale is – with only scant doubt – my favorite beer. It’s not the best beer I’ve ever tasted. That title is perennially up for grabs but it’s currently held by one of Deschutes other beers, the massive, profound, rump-kickin’ “The Abyss”, which may well be the best liquid of any kind I’ve ever put into my over-active piehole. But one cannot drink The Abyss just any ol’ time. It costs $10 a bottle and it’s about 11% alcohol, so The Abyss is a treat; one I grant myself about five times a year…unless we happen to be in Bend and it’s on tap at the Deschutes pub and then the “treat” thing goes right out the window.

But, for purposes of repeated and thoroughly enjoyable drinking, I’m a Jubel guy right down to my chromosomes. Winter seasonals have always been my favorite beers, beginning with the immortal Samuel Smith’s “Winter Welcome”, which handed the baton to Sierra Nevada’s “Celebration”, which was finally usurped by Jubel, back in 1993. I’ve sampled literally hundreds of other winter ales, over the years I’ve written about beer, and loved several: Hopworks Urban Brewery’s titanic “Abominable”, Odell Brewing’s shockingly replete “Isolation”, Great Divide’s gorgeous “Hibernation”, Pike Brewery “Auld Acquaintance”, and the sublime Hair Of The Dog Brewing “Doggie Claws”.

(Sorry. I got a little swoony for a moment…)

But, much as I love those, Jubelale is the one that hits my sweet spot, dead center. It always has. I first had it on a rare snowy November evening in ’93, having walked down to my neighborhood market on First Hill in search of a new beer. There it was, sitting on the shelf. I remember it was $4.49 a six-pack and that I liked the graphics. Other than that – having arrived from North Carolina a little over a year earlier – I knew little about Deschutes except that it was…somewhere down there in Oregon.

Jubelale 1993 Label

I remember vividly that first sip. I was sitting with my friend, Randel Hart, and he was drinking a Coors Light (shudder). I sipped tentatively, just a few drops on my tongue. “Holy S–t!” I murmured, “That’s frikkin good!”

It still is. Very, very, very good.

The 2o11 version of this amazing ale more than upholds the standard. I don’t think the folks at Deschutes jigger around with the recipe very much but there are, inevitably, subtle differences caused by variations in the hops, grain, and yeasts used from year to year. I remember that the ’06 had an unusual note of something like spruce in it. Last year’s showed hazelnut; the first time I tasted that. There is never anything off or unflattering and, as I said last year, I like to think that the making of Jubelale is somehow a little more special than making other Deschutes beers, that a little extra care is taken. (They’re probably going to giggle uncontrollably when they read this down in Bend: “What is this guy’s deal, anyway? Hey, Curtis, dump in that last bag of barley, willya?”)

Jubel is traditionally about 7% alcohol..not that you’d ever detect alcohol in this or any other Deschutes ale. But it’s plenty muscular enough to fulfill the old British definition of these ales as “winter warmers”. Some winter seasonals do the warmth with a big load of alcohol; often over 8%. Jubelale does it partly with the 7% but also with suggestion. Like Samuel Smith’s benchmark “Winter Welcome”, Jubelale is so spicy mouth-filling and inviting – and so damnably drinkable – that it warms just from the flavor profile. The smell suggests warmth: pies in the oven, bread baking, a fire crackling in the fireplace, and a roomful of family and friends. How ever it gets done, the results are an English-style Strong Ale with a seductively deep, rich, red-brown color, emphatic aromatics that show its amazing hops to their best advantage, and a palate as broad as the Lower Columbia: dried cranberry, sorghum, stewed blackberry, burnt sugar, toffee, figs, cherries galore, woodsmoke, dates, pie crust, chinquapin, rhubarb, and this year’s surprise note…(drumroll)…graphite. If you put all this stuff in a blender and ate it with a spoon, well, it would taste kinda weird. But in this liquid form, the whole thing works and works like a Type-A bricklayer.

The Serious Artisans of Deschutes Brewery

Now, chances are, you won’t have the same reaction to this ale as I do. For you, this may just be a really delicious beer that you pick up casually at the grocery store, along with the squid tentacles and Kombucha. I admit to some especially warm/fuzzy associations with it, so you should probably take this review with a grain of salt. (When I first moved to Seattle, 3,000 miles away from my family, Jubelale was my Christmas companionship.) But I URGE you – in the strongest possible terms – to at least TRY this stuff, especially if you’ve never had it before. If you like the idea of these spicy, full-bodied winter ales at all, this is one that certainly belongs on your to-do list. The range of styles is pretty broad in this category and Jubelale will bear only scant resemblance to Sierra Nevada “Celebration” and Anchor “Christmas Ale” or Great Divide “Hibernation”, to name a few. It’s closest spiritual cousin, in fact, is probably the Samuel Smith’s but even that ale isn’t as rich and complex as Jubel.

As I sat with Judye, on a warm afternoon, on the patio, sipping that first ounce of this 2011 Jubelale, I rolled my eyes and looked at her through lids narrowed by a big ol’ crap-eatin’ grin.

“I don’t honestly know why I ever drink any other beer,” I sighed.

“Oh, you say that every year,” she smiled, with a dismissive wave of the hand.

Note: This is a seattlepi.com reader blog. It is not written or edited by the P-I. The authors are solely responsible for content. E-mail us at newmedia@seattlepi.com if you consider a post inappropriate.